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<title>Elephant by allsorrowsborne</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758686">Elephant</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsorrowsborne/pseuds/allsorrowsborne'>allsorrowsborne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, Murder, Other, Queer History, Sex, Trans Character, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:15:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsorrowsborne/pseuds/allsorrowsborne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Original queer/trans historical fiction (not fanfiction). Sex, violence, obsession and murder in 1870s San Francisco.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Strap Iron</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These are short vignettes from a bigger project. I don’t really expect readers, but if you stumble across this and like it, please let me know!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They found the body at midnight. I wasn’t there of course. I was already heading home, making my way to the edge of the woods and along the train tracks that led back to town. Hours later, they would shudder to life with the rattle of the morning car, transporting two detectives and four reporters to our spot, aka the Seven-Mile Inn, aka the “scene of the crime.” But right then, as I picked my way along the darkened tracks, looking for rattlesnakes like you taught me, the strap iron rails were as dead as you.</p><p>It was all over the next day’s papers. MURDER AT SAN MIGUEL. That’s where I learned “official details.” They say that you were smoking a cigar. Sounds about right. Blanche was taking off her garter. Fucking Blanche. I bet she was. She was always taking off something for you. A brassier, a child, a garter. Fourteen bullets? I don’t think so. Eight in you? Probably right. McNamara said you were a man. Mary did too.</p><p>Arthur shot you. That’s what they’re saying. Or maybe Ernest. Makes plenty sense to those who know them. Terrible tempers – even worse than yours somedays – and lord knows they hated to see you together, at the house, over at Benny’s, hanging on each other’s arms like she was yours and you were hers and maybe you didn’t even have to pay. You still had bruises from the last time – fresh ones too from when I don’t know – so sure, their bullets were going to find you, even at seven miles distant. That’s what the reporters say. One for every girl you stole.  Bam. Bam. Etc. Etc. You had lots of girls.</p><p>And maybe I know one was special. You too, Jay. Don’t pretend. But we’re not going to tell, okay? We’re not going to tell.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stairs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I first met Blanche on Bella’s stairs. February or March. Not this year but last. I remember the morning from all that shaking. Two shocks quick and one more later. It happens sometimes in the city and people stop and look around and then go on with their day. But that time the shaking knocked over some bottles and Ah Dy woke and started shouting and scared the cat who jumped on the bed and Ah Dy shouted more. I don’t like much of people, but I like that cat and Ah Dy sometimes and I was deep in that feeling when I met Blanche.</p>
<p>She came into Bella’s house right as I was getting off work. We met on the stairs. She was one of those French girls who could have been a madam back in the fifties, but that was twenty-five years past, so here she was with the rest of us. Up and down the stairs. She was pretty okay with it though. At least back then.</p>
<p>Bella hired her on the spot. She didn’t do that for everyone, but Arthur had arranged it, I think. We passed on the stairs for a week or so and then she asked me “why don’t you ever say anything” and I said “why speak when there’s nothing worth saying” and she laughed at that even though I wasn’t joking and then we went and drank whiskey at Benny’s till she fell off the stool and twisted her ankle and after that she called me friend. That was Blanche alright. Still is, I suppose.</p>
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